The Grass is Greener
by chrnoskitty
Summary: AU.A naive, Canadian therapist, gets assigned to an inmate. An inmate whose wandering hands and less than legal prey have landed him behind bars. Will Matthew be able to get to the root of the undeniable problems, or will he gain his own in the process?
1. Chapter 1

The first time Matthew lay eyes on inmate number 32065, the Frenchman was chained to a bed, and looked to be thoroughly medicated; the kind of medicated that, when one were to think about it later, at home safe and tucked into their own homes, it would send a shudder up through the center of their spine. Yet, even despite that warning, Matthew couldn't help but be intrigued as the seemingly elder blonde looked up just the slightest at their passing, (He had been told to wear sneakers to his first day of work, and after going through only two, echoing hallways, who had liked to take the slightest squeak and amplify it tenfold, Matthew was rather grateful for the advice; the clacking of dress shoes would have just been near unbearable in such quarters), and cobalt eyes met violet for a minute that seemed to last... well, a lot less than sixty seconds; perhaps the minute had only been a couple of seconds, but, it was enough.

Enough time for Matthew to decide, that even as Gilbert steered him on, continuing the tour of his new workplace, that there was something particularly intriguing about this inmate. Before they had gone too far down the hallway, Matthew turned to said guard, an albino with one of the cockiest grins the Canadian had ever seen, and eyes a brighter red than the last painting of a dying sunset, and asked, "W-what's his name, Mister Weillschmidt? Inmate...?" The strawberry-blonde trailed off as he craned his neck over his shoulder, to get a glimpse at the number embroidered on the front of the Frenchman's shirt. "Thirty-two oh Sixty-five?"

When he looked back up to the guard who had been 'saddled with newbie duty', Matthew was surprised to see the self-proclaimed 'Prussian', grinning from ear to ear. Yet, it wasn't in a nice or pleasant fashion. No, it was a bearing of fangs, and Matthew learned from that glance that the Prussian had a rather nice set of canines, if not the answer to his question.

"32065? That one's a real nutter, we tried to shove him off to the loony bin 'bout a month ago, an' they shoved him right back to us. Rumour's had it that he got caught with his hands down some kid's pants the very first day - So you'll be gettin' to know him real good, real soon."

"T-That's nice and all, Mister Weillschmidt, but that still doesn't tell me his name."

It was at that that the Prussian held out a hand, a mere centimeter from Matthew's nose, and shook his snow-capped head at the Canadian. "First off, it's not 'Mister Weillschmidt'; that's only what I tell them in there," Gilbert indicated to just who exactly 'they' were, with a broad sweeping gesture of his hand to indicate the rows of human cages surrounding them on either side of the hall; a few inmates grumbled at this show, and others simply returned to their cot or, if they had been lucky enough to earn the items, card games.

"But fer you, Matt, the name's Gil. Gilbert. Take your pick. And second off, that one, right there? That's Francis. He's quite the pervert - 'm pretty sure it's what got him in here in the first place - So for sake of your sanity, just tell him to keep his hands above the table at all costs. Don't be afraid to use force if necessary."

Without giving the blonde a chance to squeak out an 'alright' or a 'thank you', Gilbert placed a hearty pat on the small of Matthew's back that caused the Canadian to squeak out something unintelligable, which in turn only caused Gilbert to laugh. "And enough about that one! C'mon! We've got plenty more of the place to go through!"


	2. Chapter 2

They didn't meet face-to-face until a month later. Matthew was tidying up the papers on his desk from his last session with an inmate who was only trying to snake through the system, and not actually change, when he happened to look up, and glance through the steel wire-enforced window, to see a guard who he hadn't yet met escorting a 'familiar' blonde up the hall, towards his office.

No, it seemed that he had the order was _leading_ the _guard._ But, it wasn't in a sort of forceful, 'I must prove my worth and show you just how tough I can be' sort of way. No, it was something far more... dare he even think it? ... _graceful._ Almost like it were a dance, and, though there was no music or precise steps that Matthew could see, and the guard were a willing (if unwitting) participant in it.

He allowed himself a faint quirk of a smile before turning back from the window, to appear busy and pre-occupied when the duo reached his door; Something he had learned rather quickly from the first day was best to be, otherwise other work could, and would, be assigned to him. Not that he had minded helping out that much, it was just that, after spending ten hours a day delving into the minds of all sorts of miscreants, retreating home to the couch, something delicious, and a bloody sport were a really welcome way to unwind.

It was because of this mentality that Matthew had actually found himself absorbed in reviewing the case notes from his previous session, making last-minute amendments to the chicken scratch that served as his own personal form of shorthand. When it came, the guard's sharp, impatient rap of knuckles against the door startled the Canadian, enough that he let one of his papers - a list of those that he would be seeing, today - flutter to the ground, without so much as a second thought for it, as he went to answer the door.

Merely a formality, an illusion of privacy, as Matthew knew very well that the guard had the keys to open his door; When Gilbert wasn't away on some suspicious made-up holiday that everyone knew was just a cover for his hangover, the Prussian had made it a habit of harassing the newly-appointed psychiatrist - often barging in, declaring his awesome to the dumbstruck Canadian and sniggering prisoner, before slamming the door and whistling an obnoxious bar tune that was readily heard throughout most of the complex.

It was an obscure form of luck that today, said Prussian was off celebrating 'I'm Awesome Week; National Holiday of Prussia', "32065. Your Seven o'clock," The guard said mechanically as Matthew held open the door, and the Frenchman was pushed in. "Be back in an hour." And before Matthew had even uttered a 'Thank you, see you then,' the guard was already halfway down the hall; obviously happy to be rid of this particular prisoner.

_Curious_. The Frenchman hadn't even said one word, and already Matthew had something to remember to note for later.


End file.
